Fettuccine Al Burro
by KingPreussen
Summary: Every Italian knows that pasta makes any bad day better. Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Not Actually Unrequited Love. Prumano, background Gerita. Familial Romano and Veneziano. No Human Names Used. Rated for a little bit of cursing.


**I was hit with another Prumano idea! Unfortunately I seem to be fixated on summits and conferences for now, but I'm sure I'll get a different plot point soon.**

**This is dedicated to Rihanna (lmao) because Bitch Better Have My Money on repeat is getting me through some tough times right now (also two litres of coffee a day). It's actually been an inspiration for another story that I'm working on as I write this note! (hint: mercenary!Prussia)**

**Please don't be too critical of Prussia and Romano's personalities, as I'm still working through my headcanons and continuity ideas for them. I'm leaning toward a calmer Romano and a sweeter Prussia as of now, but don't be surprised if I post a story that has completely different characterisations! Also please tell me what you think.**

**Enjoy this little story!**

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Romano was having a shit day.

It began in his hotel room at four in the morning. He woke out of a sound sleep in an unfamiliar darkness, clutching at his chest and panting like he'd run ten miles in his sleep. It almost felt like he was being suffocated, something that happened when Veneziano ended up sleeping on top of him in the middle of the night instead of next to him, but his brother was on the other side of the bed facing away. It wasn't a sharp pain in his ribs either, so he wasn't worried about any kind of structural collapse in his territory.

Veneziano shifted; he could probably sleep through drone strikes and nuclear disasters but at the first sound of distress from his older brother he blinked his sleepy eyes all the way open and rolled over. "Romano?" he mumbled in confusion.

"Go back to sleep," Romano replied in a whisper. Those four words completely emptied his lungs and he took a deeper breath, which was definitely a mistake. Veneziano nearly made _him_ frantic with his worried babbling and emphatic gestures for the tiny sound of pain Romano made. "Veneziano," he snapped hoarsely, grabbing his brother in a headlock until he stopped fucking talking. "I'm fine! It's probably a little trade fluctuation."

The younger Italy thought for a moment, nodded, and wriggled out of Romano's grasp to instead hold on to his arm. That turned into pulling him backward until his head hit the pillows again. "You have a presentation, _fratello_, _you're_ the one who should go back to sleep. Romano huffed for appearances but did allow Veneziano to sleep pressed against his side until their alarm clock went off a few hours later.

At nine, dressed impeccably and well-caffeinated (not necessarily a good thing on Veneziano's part but an excellent one on Romano's), they walked into the conference hall. The hotel wasn't far and, it being a diplomatic event, they got chauffeured around instead of taking cabs or public transport. He had expected to be unhappy in England, almost the opposite of his lands' sunny paradise, but Romano couldn't shake the feeling that something other than that was wrong.

It wasn't a feeling of aimless anger or frustration like usual. After some thought in the shower and while getting dressed, Romano figured his people in Abruzzo were having a bit of a harvest slump; it wasn't enough to spiral him into debt or even a little bit of an economic lag like the past production fluctuation had, but he was feeling… off. He didn't want to scream and yell and be abrasive, he wanted to be coddled, and trust the rest of these idiots to not notice when their attentions would actually be appreciated.

The meeting hadn't begun so he was left to sit alone at the table when Veneziano abandoned him for his idiot potato boyfriend. Spain didn't even see that Romano was annoyed and didn't want to be bothered and therefore didn't come to bother him. It didn't help that after his younger and older brother, he didn't know of anyone who would care about his feelings enough to talk to him about them.

He heard a delighted squeal from Veneziano's direction and he closed his eyes, slumping down in his chair and resting his head on the back. He was probably wrinkling his Armani suit but the other nations would just have to deal with him looking like a crumpled napkin for one day.

"Vene-Vene!" Romano lifted his head a little to watch Prussia saunter into the room, his hands stuck into his trouser pockets and his usual wide grin spread across his face. Romano was one of the only nations unsurprised that Germany had given his elder brother control of most of his old territory post-reunification-he and Veneziano had a similar arrangement, as they had been practically separate nations for so long it was hard to feel a strong connection to the other's land. He could feel a little bit of whatever affected his brother, and vice versa, but they were otherwise separate people.

Prussia, or East Germany as he was called in the official record books, stood at the other side of Veneziano, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet like he just couldn't stay still. "How is my little Veneziano this morning?" he asked almost gently.

Germany's lips were pressed into a thin line of annoyance (Romano was sure that he and Germany had never felt the same emotion for the same reason before this instant) but Veneziano looked as happy and clueless as ever. "Hi Prussia! You're cheerful today!"

Prussia's grin seemed to get even wider and every nation in a twenty foot radius took a step back. The man might not represent an entire country anymore, but he was fond of his war stories, and most everyone could remember getting their ass kicked by him when he grinned at them at the start of battle. Austria and Hungary didn't seem so scared of him but only because of his latent-and well known-crush on the both of them. Neither did Lithuania or Russia, but that was because they kicked _his_ ass not so long ago.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Prussia answered brightly. "I get to see my sweet Vene!" He leaned forward and pinched Veneziano's cheek with two fingers. It didn't look like it was as hard of a pinch as Spain would give, so Romano regretfully resisted the urge to get up and slap Prussia's hand away from his brother.

The other disgusting and embarrassing reason that Romano didn't want to face Prussia was much more personal. He inevitably got to know Germany's brother through Veneziano, and under all the showy, too-loud mask there was a genuinely nice person. Prussia liked cute animals and cleaning and gardening, and was willing to try every kind of pasta Veneziano could cook. And Romano felt himself getting in over his head a little more every time he had to see the wurst bastard. It was infatuation a year ago but now he was convinced he actually felt _affetto_ and just the thought made him flush red.

But Prussia was self-confident, and German, and his brother's boyfriend's brother (Romano got a little dizzy thinking that in his native language). There was no way he would give Romano the time of day and he was surprised at himself for investing so much emotion into something impossible.

Romano shook those thoughts out of his head and tuned the three of them out as best he could, staring at the high ceiling. Because they were so far north for this meeting, it wasn't painted as beautifully as his or Veneziano's or even France's meeting halls would be, but it wasn't the plain white he expected either. He lifted his arm all the way above his face to glance at his watch and sighed irritably. There were still ten minutes before the meeting was supposed to start and he just wanted to get it over with and go back to his and Veneziano's hotel room.

There was the sound of someone walking behind him but he largely ignored it, squinting up at the ceiling to try and interpret who was being represented in the, quite honestly, shoddy paintings. "Italy," the person said, and it was fucking Prussia, and Romano almost sighed again. '_Don't call him over here_,' he thought to himself without any real heat. '_You were both so far away from me a second ago_.'

"Italy, come on, don't ignore me!" Prussia sat in the seat next to him and Romano finally glanced over, frowning. "There you go!" The other nation snickered and stretched his legs toward Romano, crossing them at the ankle and folding his arms behind his head.

If anything, Romano's frown deepened as he sat up straight. "That's not my name," he said slowly, almost patiently, as if Prussia had forgotten.

"Um, yeah it is," Prussia said in the same tone, his bright red eyes narrowed teasingly. "I've known you since you were kicking at Spain's shins."

Just as he was forming a scathing reply, Romano's weird mood tilted on its axis, sending his stomach spinning as well. He gasped out loud and across the room Veneziano turned to them, getting an aftershock of whatever the fuck Romano was feeling. "Italy?" Prussia asked, his hand a cool weight on Romano's shoulder.

"_Fratellone_?" Veneziano said from somewhere near him, having moved almost as fast as a retreat. There were lips on his forehead, and then, "He's not feverish so I don't think it's serious-"

"It's not," Romano managed to answer through gritted teeth. His nauseous feeling had passed and so had most of the weird feeling but he still stood on shaky legs and slid his phone off the table. "I'm gonna call my boss." Half a step from his chair and he faltered, and then Veneziano was on his left, both arms around his waist to hold him up. Romano couldn't remember another time he was glad that his brother was taller than him, but he was just enough centimeters above Romano to make him comfortable to lean against.

After swiping in and pressing his speed-dial, Romano held his phone to his ear. There better not be bad news or he would drag himself out of "weird emotion" straight into rage. Spain must have caught sight of him and his brother holding on to each other, Romano's arm actually around Veneziano's shoulders without trying to strangle him, because soon enough he was at Romano's other side.

"Roma!" Spain said in a panic, wildly blowing things out of proportion like normal. He looked like he wanted to bodily pick Romano up and carry him out of the conference room.

A sharp glare quelled that urge. "Fuck off, bastard, I'm on the phone," he hissed, and then a slightly more respectful, "What the fuck was that?" to his boss.

"_A little bit of a misunderstanding, Romano, nothing to worry about-_"

"I almost threw up in the middle of a meeting!" Okay, so it wasn't the middle of the meeting, but it was in front of all of his colleagues and he would never have lived something like that down. "Is it still Abruzzo?"

There was a pause and a clacking keyboard, and then, "_Yes, but it's fixed as of now. A little spike in seismograph readings_."

At least there was a good reason for all of this. "No deaths?"

"_Not even a grape fell from the vine_."

"Hmph," Romano hummed. "You call me next time, _fannullone_!" He hung up without waiting for an answer, pushing Veneziano away and falling back into his chair. "It's nothing," he said, letting Spain smooth at his hair and shoulders. At least he wasn't trying to "spell" Romano's illness away like he had when he was just a colony.

There were other nations glancing at their rag-tag group now, keeping the same distance from Romano as from Prussia but for different reasons. He knew perfectly well that they didn't consider him the real Italy, although he was older and had more land than Veneziano, so to see him have a reaction to something about his people was surprising to them. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry at them.

Prussia, still in the seat next to Romano, had his hands folded in his lap like he was trying not to reach out to him and was very still. Of course, it was probably wishful thinking on Romano's part that Prussia would want to touch him again after that pat on the shoulder, but he was sick and therefore he got to think whatever he wanted. "I'm fine, bastard," he snapped at Spain, and "sit down, _fratellino_," to his brother. England was standing at the head of the table now and the meeting would finally begin.

He didn't have to present until the second half of the meeting, so he mostly tuned everyone out. Veneziano was doodling as usual to one side of him, and to the other Prussia had a handheld game out under the table with the brightness turned all the way down. Romano kept a careful check on his own feelings and a hand around his phone in case it vibrated, perking up whenever something about trade was mentioned from the podium but looking away again when his name didn't come into it.

Lunch came quickly that way. Again, they were in Britain, so most everyone was going to the one authentic Indian restaurant within five miles of the conference hall that India so graciously recommended to them. As much as Romano liked spicy food he didn't think his stomach would be able to handle anything as intense as Indian so he declined Veneziano's invitation to join them.

"Why don't you take an early _siesta_?" Veneziano suggested while Germany helped him into his coat. "Maybe you'll feel better."

Romano shrugged one shoulder noncommittally, tilted his face for a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and sighed when the conference room emptied out and he was the only nation left. Maybe a little nap was a good idea, and then some more of England's piss-poor coffee. "Hey," Prussia's voice broke his train of thought, the man once again moving from behind him to his seat right next to Romano.

"Thought you went to lunch," Romano replied softly, without the energy to go all spitting and hissing cat on Prussia for bothering him while he was alone.

Prussia seemed surprised at his tone-or lack of. "Um, I was going to, but I brought you something." Romano frowned as he dug around in his bag (a backpack, of all things, how unprofessional). He pulled out a glass bowl with a plastic lid and a plastic fork. "I think there's a microwave in one of the offices down the hall."

Romano took the bowl on reflex, and then stared up at Prussia, who was looking uncharacteristically nervous. "You…," he began, and then his temper caught up with him. "Why? You think I'm stupid, potato-eater? I'm not gonna get anywhere near your fucking kraut food!"

Prussia, as quick-to-anger as Romano, got on the defensive. "It's not kraut you idiot! It's pasta!"

Now Romano was even more confused. "Wh-"

"Veneziano taught me how to make it," Prussia interrupted him, trying for an uncaring tone but ending up more anxious. "He said you really liked this kind even though it didn't traditionally have tomatoes, but I know how much you like them, so I added some." This was all said in one breath, the taller nation's trademark smirk gone from his lips and instead replaced with a kind of insistence, like he was trying to convince Romano of his sincerity.

"Ah," Romano answered eloquently. He pulled the top open and blinked at the perfectly edible looking fettuccine al burro. "I-"

Prussia's vulnerability had spread from his expression to his hands; he was twisting his fingers together, looking at the wall just over Romano's head. "I wanted to ask you, if you wanted to go to dinner with me? Not here, of course, I don't want to die of food poisoning on this tiny cold island, but later?"

"Why?" Romano blurted stupidly, and felt his face heat up. "N-not like 'why' like 'no,' but just…." He trailed off and heard Prussia sit down, dropping his backpack on the floor.

"You're cute," he said simply. If Romano blushed anymore his limbs would fall asleep from lack of circulation. Prussia began to elaborate, getting some of his confidence back now that Romano was visibly flustered as well. "You're selfless, too, and not even in a doormat way. You don't respond to your own name 'cause you think it belongs to Veneziano!" His voice softened and he leaned forward like he and Romano were sharing a secret. "And I didn't want you to think I was doing this 'cause of Vene or West. I think with some close contact you could be just as awesome as me one day."

Romano rolled his eyes. Now that his feelings didn't seem so one sided anymore, he relaxed considerably. "Yeah, okay." He stood up, holding the bowl full of pasta carefully, and kicked at the base of Prussia's chair. "I'm willing to bet you didn't bring any for yourself," Romano said wryly, "So why don't you share this with me? And we can make dinner plans."

The way Prussia's bright eyes and sharp grin softened at his words made Romano feel weird in a much better way than he had just a few hours ago.

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**translations:**  
**fratello/fratellone/fratellino - brother/big brother (affectionate)/little brother (affectionate)**  
**affetto - affection, love**  
**fannullone - a do-nothing, a lazy person, a slacker**  
**siesta - midday nap**

**treats for you:**  
**"the elder brother of the boyfriend of my little brother" - il fratellone del fidanzato di mio fratellino**  
**please say this five times fast!**

**Thanks for reading!**


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